Toast to Life
by WriteroftheRevolution
Summary: Eric Northman, the all powerful, big and bad sheriff of Area 5 finds himself saddled with an old "witch" of a friend who has an act of always bringing her chaotic life into his. And vice versa. Not an EricOC, but it does feature an OC. R&R please!
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own "The Heir Trilogy", "The Sookie Stackhouse Novels", or "True Blood"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this is my first fic inthis department, so go easy on me. I know that this story is under The Heir Trilogy and Southern Vampire Mysterious Crossover, but some bits of True Blood will be featured in this. For example, in this, Godric is Eric's maker, which is from True Blood. That's pretty much all the True Blood bits I'll be using. So, enjoy!

P.S. This story starts in the middle of "Dead in Dallas" and "Club Dead"

SUMMARY: Eric Northman, the all powerful big bad sheriff of Area 9, suddenly finds himself saddled with an old "witch" of a friend who has always had an act of dragging all of her problems into his already chaotic life. And vice versa.

* * *

CHAPTER 1

Eric had been dwelling on this night, this very hour, for weeks. He still wasn't sure what his opinion on the matter was, however. When he first discovered that he was the one who was to be shouldered with this responsibility, he wished he was human only for the purpose of drowning himself. But, after some calming down, and a not so peppy pep talk from Pam, he began to think over the matter. A person of this...power (and annoyance) would be a great addition to his magical arsenal. Even though she probably wouldn't agree. She wouldn't agree with anything he ever said.

Suddenly, Pam was in the door way of his office, leaning against the door frame, her arms crossed casually over her chest. She was dressed rather casually this Friday evening in early fall: a bright pink, cashmere turtle neck, skin tight, denim jeans, and dark brown boots, given to her as a gift from Sookie. Her long, blond hair was thickly curled, shaping her beautiful, pale face, giving it a deadly shadow. He couldn't help but smile as he stared at his loyal child of many centuries.

"She's here." she said in a monotonous voice. Eric's smile dropped.

"Of course she is. Where is she?" he asked, turning off his open laptop, and closing in roughly.

"Her cab just pulled up. How long has it been, anyway?" she asked, chewing obnoxiously on a large stick of bubble gum. Eric stared off into the distance for a moment, as if he was looking back in time. After a long beat of silence, he sighed heavily.

"Too long. I'll be there shortly." Pam nodded, taking the cue, and left the doorway. Eric stood up, stretching his arms behind his head. He suddenly remembered how Sookie practically moaned when he did that. He checked himself in this rectangular, full length mirror; smoothing his suit jacket, straightening his tie, and left his office, a smirk still on his face.

His steps felt slow and heavy, like there were anchors attatched to his ankles. He told himself that he didn't want to do this, that brining up such a complicated past like this was certainly not what he needed at the moment, but, in the back of his mind, he felt slightly excited about this. He hadn't seen this girl in one hundred years. Now, she was being dumped on him like some long last adolescent cousin. He snickered when he realized that that was pretty much their situation.

Pam stood at the front door of the bar, leaning against the wall, along with his newest loyal follower, Chow. They both stood up straight when they saw their master approaching. Eric stood before the door, and took hold of the handle. He turned to Pam, and took a long, deep breath. She smiled slightly at his obvious hesitation.

"Ya ready?" she asked with an almost cruel half smile. Eric grinned broadly, showing some of his brilliant white teeth.

"Not in a thousand years." With this, he opened the door, and there she stood. Her back was facing him when he opened the door, but she immediately turned to face him. She was holding an old fashioned, 1920's suitcase in front of her with both hands, and Eric couldn't help but notice how it was covered with post cards from all over the world. He smiled inside when he realized that he had sent her most of those post cards. Hell, he had bought her that suitcase.

She looked exactly the same as she had the first time he saw her, three hundred years ago. Her dark, mahogany skin reminded him of brown silk of the richest degree. Her face was sculpted by the gods themselves, he believed, for he never before or after had seen a face with such sharp and brilliant angles. Her large brown eyes seemed to swim, and bore into his very soul. She wore a pair of large bell bottom denim jeans with a loose fitting tunic over it. Her long hair was in micro braids, and hung down to her waist. She looked like a seventeen year old. She had _always_ looked like a seventeen year old. This was odd for a sorcerer, for they weren't immortal like their cousins, Wizards, but Leila in herself was just odd. But in a startlingly beautiful way.

Eric sighed as his eyes came back to look into hers, and he smiled sincerely.

"Welcome, Leila." Her eyes quickly scanned his tall, strong, 6'6" of viking beauty, but with as little physical appreciation of a Republican from Texas.

"Beowulf." she said, her voice even and warm, like a comforting cup of tea, with just a little bit of a frosty chill on the edge. Eric only noticed her voice for a moment before he realized what she had called him. She had always called him Beowulf in pure mockery. She also called him Braveheart for a while, but he corrected her by stating that Braveheart was Irish, not Nordic.

Eric gave her a quick look, warning her to watch her choice of words. She rolled her eyes in annoyance, and groaned loudly.

"Fine, okay, hello _Eric_. Look at you. Moving up in the world, aren't ya? Isn't it just wonderful that I show up now, of all times?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. She always had a love for sarcasm. Yes, this certainly would be an interesting few weeks--months? God forbid years. Oh crap...she would be with him forever.

* * *

**AN: Alright, there you go! I know this chapter was short, but I'm just kinda testing the waters with this right now. Please review, if you like, I'd really appreciate it! **


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: I do not own "The Heir Trilogy", "The Sookie Stackhouse Novels", or "True Blood"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Dude! No reviews! That's just not cool.

P.S. This story begins right in the middle of "The Wizard Heir" and I'm changing Leila's name to Layla, which means born at night

* * *

CHAPTER 2

They all sat in silence. Eric, Pam, Chow, and Layla all sat at a round table, feeling very uncomfortable, and very awkward. Layla was given a sweet tea -something she had always been fond of - and a BLT sandwich. Why they just happened to have those items in stock, Eric had no idea.

Layla had her hands tightly wrapped around her perspiring glass, running her hands up and down it at some times. Her silver ring with an amethyst stone caught all of the little light there was in the room, shining brightly. Very few knew that that humble ring held more power than the eldest Wizard. Finally, annoyed with the constant silence, Eric spoke up.

"So, Layla, where were you before you were dragged down here to good ole' Louisiana?" asked Eric, only smiling slightly. Leila smiled, and her bright white teeth caught his keen eyes.

"I was in London, actually. Helping out an old friend. I don't even know how the bastards found me; I was supposed to be incognito." Eric was about to ask why she needed to be incognito, but he decided against it.

"Did you even know this article existed?" he asked, referring to Godric's long lost will that had popped up out of absolutely no where. Layla rolled her eyes, and dropped back in her chair.

"No, I had no idea! I just never saw Godric as the type to write a _will_ of all things, and then drop me in it. What, does he think that I can't take care of myself?" Eric chuckled, swirling his True Blood around in the bottle.

"Godric knew perfectly well that you could take care of yourself. You've proved that fact multiple times." Layla smiled, and finally took a small bite out of her cold BLT. Pam had seemed completely detached from the entire matter since Layla walked in the door, but she chose this point to enter herself into the conversation.

"What does this will entitle, exactly?" she asked, leaning forward. Layla wiped a stray drop of mayo from the corner of her mouth as she chewed, and glanced at Eric.

"Do you wanna tell her, or should I?" she asked with a full mouth. Eric shrugged and made a motion towards herself. She took this as a sign to go ahead and explain the meddling unhelpful situation.

"Well, apparently," she took a second to swallow her food, "apparently, Godric had written up this secret will a few years before he died, and the only thing it entitled was that I be dragged from wherever I was and forced to live with Eric and submit myself to his protection. He must admit me into his home and protect me, or...bad things will happen. To the both of us. It's a magic thing."

Chow smirked slightly, his arms folded stubbornly across his chest.

"Well that's uncompromising."

"You're telling me. Now everything - my whole life - has been interrupted because of this. I shouldn't be here." Layla stared into her drink, gazing off into the depths of her mind. Eric could tell that something was seriously wrong, but he didn't wish to bring up the many questions he had now, not in front of underlings. But they would definitely talk about this...whatever _this_ was.

Eric suddenly felt a slight pull on the base of his neck, alerting him that dawn was approaching. On any other occasion, he would have just slept at Fangtasia, but he had a new responsibility now. Ugh, _responsibility_. He always hated that word. He stood, pushing the chair back with the back of his knees, and Chow and Pam followed suit. Layla remained seated.

"Come on, magi. It's time that I take you to our new home." Layla continued to stare at her drink for a moment, as if lost in the deep, ancient bowels of her own moment, than finally rose with a sigh. She picked up her ancient suitcase by the handle, and turned to face her new guardian.

"Let's hit the road, Beowulf."

-888-

The drive was only about twenty minutes on any regular day, but this ride seemed to last for absolutely ever. They sat in total silence as the narrow road twisted and turned before the glare of the headlights. There wasn't a single car on the road, which wasn't that rare this late. But still, it only intensified the silence. Eric found that he just couldn't take it anymore. It was like waiting for a bomb to go off.

"So," he said finally, keeping his eyes focused on the road. "tell me what's really going on."

Layla said nothing. She kept her head turned to the right, staring out of the passenger side window, glaring into the darkness. Eric thought for a moment that she wouldn't answer him at all. Then he heard a deep, strangled sigh come from her ancient, beautiful mouth.

"The Roses are mobilizing."

Eric hadn't heard those words in probably a century. He had never been very interested in Wizard politics, but he kept his ears open to the gossip. The decline in Warriors had a deadly effect on the Roses and their way of life. With no Warriors to fight for them, they turned to killing each other. They had also turned to kidnapping Sorcerers, Seers, Enchanters, Faries, Shifters and any other magical being they could get their hands on to help fill their armories with magical weapons. The Black Market was at it's highest rate, and climbing. No one was safe. But now, according to Layla, the Roses were coming together, which was almost as rare as when vampires gathered together.

"What are they up to?" asked Eric. Layla shrugged, and rested her forehead against the cool glass.

"That's what concerns me. I don't know what they're planning. I've been working with the Silver Dragons to help as many Weirs as we can, but we won't make a significant dint in the cause until we find out what the Wizards are up to. That's why it is so dangerous for me to be here. I don't want to draw Wizards into your territory."

"Hey." said Eric, causing Layla to turn her head and face him. "You aren't bringing any danger that I can't handle. Besides, if you're in trouble, than the best place for you to be is here." Eric smiled slightly at the ancient Sorcerer, and Layla couldn't help but smile back.

"Maybe Godric was on to something when he wrote that Will." she said with a laugh. Eric laughed as well, and tossed his head in order to move some strands from his eyes.

"Well, you know Godric."

"Always thinking three steps ahead when we're four steps behind."

-888-

When Eric's sports car finally pulled into the driveway of his suburban home, both of them were weighed down by exhaustion. Dawn was fast approaching, and Layla was just starting to feel the effects of jet lag. Sleep would be welcome for both of them. Layla looked up at the cookie-cutter home, and sighed.

"I can't believe that you're living here. I protested against these kinds of homes in the '70s." Eric smirked as he lifted Layla's suitcase from the trunk of his car.

"Please. What didn't you protest against in the '70s?" Layla opened her mouth to respond, but soon closed it when she realized there was no point.

Once Layla entered the home, she felt the light blub go off in her head. The dark, Gothic furniture made of dark maple, and the rich colors, and extravagant tapestries made it extremely obvious that this was Eric's home. He was just living in that particular house to fit in. If he could, he would live in a castle of gray stone on top of a hill over looking a river of doom.

Layla sighed as she took in the air of Eric's home.

"I feel like I'm coming home. That place that we had in Washington right after the Civil War was a lot like this." she said as she ran her hand over the arm of a large, heavily upholstered chair. Eric smirked as he thought back on that large, colonial mansion that Godric had bought on a whim while they were waiting for the Reconstruction of the south to wind down. Eric was given free range of the interior decorating, so, of course, he filled it with Gothic furniture - the closest thing he could find to the glory of his time.

"I'm glad you're so supportive. I always have had a deep respect for your interior design skills." The sarcasm was so thick in Eric's voice, it was practicly dripping. Leyla immediatly knew what he was refering to.

"Hey, you guys said that I could do whatever I wanted with that cabin, so don't give me the sarcasm, Beowulf." Eric grinned, and simply shrugged, knowing that a rebuttal would just explode into an argument. They used to fight constantly, and over the most ridiculous things. Godric constantly served as the median, dashing between the two of them until he had gathered the entire story. Now they didn't have anyone there to ref for them. No one except each other.

"Your room's upstairs. Come on, I think you'll like it." Eric didn't give Layla anytime to respond before Eric vanished upstairs.

The room that Eric lead her to was the only one upstairs, and at the end of a long hallway. He stood in front of a closed, worn door, grinning like a little boy with a secret. Once Layla had arrived at the door, Eric slowly opened it, letting the hinges creek. Layla's hand flew to her mouth when she saw what Eric had done.

The room was large, consisting of a walk in closet, full bathroom - with steam shower - and every item of furniture one could ever put in a bedroom. But that wasn't the best part by far. Masks and tapestries that she hadn't seen in centuries covered every wall. The memories of the tribe she was stolen from over two hundred years ago. Things she had almost forgotten.

"Where did you find these things?" she asked, running her hand along a shield that was similar to the one that her father carried. Eric smirked and watched Layla migrate around the room.

"Museums. Universities. Auctions. You talked about your home often for those first few years, so I assumed that I had enough information to make sure that everything was authentic."

"Oh, I assure you, it's authentic. And this," Layla moved towards the bed and picked up a folded quilt, worn with age, but alive with memories. "This is the quilt that Josie Michal gave me after I trafficked her to Massachusetts from Georgia. I thought I lost it. How did you...?"

"Godric had it in his room. I remembered how you toted it around with you everywhere you went, so I wanted to get it back to you. I figured that now would be the perfect time."

Layla turned to Eric, the quilt pressed to her chest.

"Thank you, Eric. You have no idea how much all of this means to me." Eric shrugged, and looked off at some minuscule item, avoiding the look in Layla's eyes.

"Even though you annoy me to no end, I want you to be comfortable. Godric would have wanted it." Layla nodded, looking down at her feet. The two stood in awkward silence for a moment more before Eric let out a deep sigh, signaling his exit.

"Well then, I'm going to ground for the day. I suggest you get some sleep, as well. You have a busy night tomorrow." Layla looked up, her eyebrows clinched in confusion.

"I do?" Eric turned back to her, a glint in his eye.

"You do." Before Layla could say another word, Eric exited the room, closing the door behind him. Layla grinned, thinking back on the fact that she had never received an actual "good bye" from Eric. She guessed it was some kind of fear of closure thing.

Layla stood beside the king size, four post bed, her back facing the mattress. And, with a joyous scream, she fell back onto it, letting the bed soak her up. Living in a one room apartment in dreary London, constantly on the run, felt like a hundred years ago.


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: I do not own "The Heir Trilogy", "The Sookie Stackhouse Novels", or "True Blood"

* * *

CHAPTER 3

_The air was cold and foreign, and smelled of freedom...and fear. The fog was thick, hindering her view for miles. The trees grew close together, and the roots rose above the earth, so her bare feet were constantly being caught and tripped as she ran through the wild wood. The little garments she wore caught on branches and twigs, snagging and slowing her. She could hear their pursuit somewhere behind her - the angry, harsh language and rushed foot steps - but she didn't slow down. She knew that slowing down would mean that she was caught, and being caught meant being dead. _

_She had bid her sisters to run just an hour before, and hoped that her futile flight would distract the traders long enough to give her sisters a head start. But, they never were very fast runners. _

_The full, wild moon shone down on her lithe figure, illuminating her ebony skin like a ghost. She didn't know where she was going - she just wanted to get away. _

_Suddenly, the deep, echoing howl of a wolf pierced the air. But, not the howl of any wolf she had ever heard. So startled was she by the cry of the night, she let herself be tripped by an exposed root, and she fell. Now, she was certainly dead. _

_What felt like a second later, two Spanish traders emerged from the brush, shouting out obscenities in a language she could not understand. One carried a long, deadly looking horse whip, the other a matchlock musket. She knew that, if she focused, she could spell them, and thus escape the pain to come, but her fear held her still. _

_The Spanish man with the whip motioned towards the one with the musket, uttering something harsh. The musket-man responded with a pitiful look, and soft words, but the man with the whip would not be turned. Somewhat hesitantly, the musket-man raised his weapon, pointing the mouth of the barrel at her. Her heart must have stopped. She could use her magic, she could save herself, but she just couldn't. Her mind had decided not to work. _

_The rifleman was prepared to fire. She was going to die, and join her father, brother, and mother in the palace of the gods. _

_But the gods she was so eager to meet had different plans. _

_Bright eyes, dark with lust, flashed somewhere beside her, and then were gone, only to reappear somewhere else. Then there were more. Like a lightning strike, these ghosts struck down the Spaniards. The blood flowed in rivers from their devastated throats, hot and steaming. The men didn't even have time to scream before their lives were taken from them. The blood stained the ground, flowing out around the cold bodies, slowly easing towards her. She folded her feet closer under her when the blood touched her skin. She looked up to face her mysterious saviors, and instantly wished that she hadn't. _

_There stood two demons who had served as her heroes only to replace the villains. One was tall and frighteningly handsome with long hair that reminded her of fresh honey. The other was much shorter than the first, but still just about her height. His dark hair was cut short against his head, and, by the light of the moon, she could see the outlines of the extravagant tattoos that decorated his chest and arms. The eerie light made them look extremely pale, almost shining in the white light. Their eyes were shining, and they both wore devilish grins that would make a murderer curl up in fright. Her eyes just happened to lock on the shorter one, studying him, memorizing his every ghostly curve. A shocked gasp escaped her parched throat when she saw a long tendril of blood hang off of the end of a long, bleached white fang and drop silently to the ground. _

-888-

Layla's breath seemed to catch in her chest as she jolted from sleep. Her eyes opened, and she could swear that she had no idea where she was. Memories of memories hung on every wall, staring down at her. For a moment, she thought she was dead. Then, it all came back to her. Shreveport. Eric. The Will. Godric. She groaned loudly, deciding that she was better off when she believed she was dead.

She buried her head in one of the thickly stuffed pillows, willing herself to go back to sleep, but her mind was shaken to such an extent that sleep was beyond rescuing.

"Oh. Great." Layla mumbled into her pillow. Giving up the fight, she sat up straight in the bed, face to face with darkness. For a moment, she was alarmed, for she knew that she could not have slept for an entire day, until she remembered. She let out a long, sad sigh. Right. Vampires. No windows.

She crawled across the bed until the lamp on the bedside table was within arms length of her. With a grunt, she turned the knob under the lamp shade, filling the light with much needed light. Yep, she was still in Eric's eccentrically decorated house, trapped under a Will that was turning her life on it's end.

Deciding that there was no use lying in bed waiting for the vampires to rise for the rest of the day, Layla rose and went through all of the events that come with the start of the day. She took a shower, brushed her teeth, washed her face, got dressed in something besides her extra large black Fangtasia shirt - courtesy of Eric Northman. She had completely forgotten about packing any sleeping clothes. Back in London, she usually came home so late, she didn't have time to change into anything before grabbing about three hours of sleep just so she could wake up at 5:00 and repeat the day all over again. Most of the things she packed were tools of the Trade: amulets, books, mortar and pestle, herbs. Clothes and toiletries could always be bought again, but a Sorcerer's instruments stayed with them for life.

After changing into yet another pair of bell bottom jeans and a stretchy tshirt that said "The Beatles" on the front, she recognized the tell tale sign of hunger in her grumbling stomach. She hadn't truly eaten in such a long time, hunger was like a weekly hair appointment for her.

The house was utterly silent. Nothing, not even the hum of the AC, could be heard. Layla slowly made her way downstairs, keeping her eyes and ears open. Through her many unorthodox professions, Layla had learned that total silence was never a good thing. After safely making it to the kitchen without being attacked by ninjas, she let her guard down, and went on a quest for food.

She started at the usual spot; the refrigerator. She opened it, eager to see what kind of provisions Eric had gathered, and her smile fell when she saw a completely empty stainless steel fridge. Well, not totally empty. There were three cases of True Blood. She sighed again. Vampires. She opened every cupboard, every drawer, and still found nothing. Not even a pack of coffee!

"Come on, Eric. With all of the fangbangers you have at your dissposal, one would think that you would at least have some Lean Cuisine, or _something_!" she said loudly, knowing that no one would hear her. With a huff, she scanned the room, placing her hands firmly on her hips. Then, a small, folded piece of paper resting on the counter caught her eye. She quickly picked it up, unfolding it, and holding it out in front of her to read. She couldn't help but smirk when she saw that it was from Eric.

_Magi,_

_It has not escaped my attention that you are still human enough to need food. Even though this fact proves to be terribly uncompromising, I will not ignore it. There is a envelope on the coffee table that contains five hundred dollars. Use this money to get food, clothes, anything you need. And to help you around town while I am indisposed, there is a new set of wheels waiting in the driveway for you. Have a nice day._

_Eric_

Layla almost squealed in excitement as she ran through the house, throwing open the front door, and running into the street, eager to see her new ride. But, to her surprise, she didn't see a car. Nothing but Eric's sports car and bike.

"What the hell, Beowulf?" she asked out loud, looking around. She forced herself to think back to the note, analyzing every sentence. Then, it hit her. Unless Eric was intending to give her his kick-ass sports car, than...

"A bike, Eric? Seriously?"

It wasn't an unattractive bike, or anything. It was a Schwinn Lulu 26": green, elegant, very 1960's. In fact, Layla had a bike just like that when she was living in Chicago. There was a medium size, metal basket on the back, large enough for her to put bags in. And here Layla thought that Eric had lost his sense of humor.

-888-

Eric awoke and immediately sensed another presence in his house. He was prepared to rise, and face the threat, but then he remembered. Layla. With an unnecessary sigh, he slowly sat up straight in bed, running his fingers through his hair. With vampiric speed, he picked his cell phone off of the bedside table, and dialed Pam's number.

"Master?" the voice of his child elegantly stated after one ring.

"I'm bringing Layla in tonight. She'll need something to do while she's here, so might as well put her to work. Be ready." And with that, he hung up. This was going to be interesting.

-888-

When he entered into the living room, he had to grin when he saw Layla reclined on the sofa, eating a ham sandwich, and watching _Twilight_, of all things.

"Wouldn't it be funny if there was a breed of Vampires that sparkled in the sunlight?" she asked, after catching sight of him out of the corner of her eye. Eric glanced at the TV, studying the pale, young faces of what teenage America thought being a Vampire was. Little did they know that somewhere, in the hidden crevices of the world, the things that didn't even exist in the supernatural world existed.

"Yes, funny." Eric answered in almost a whisper. Eric used his Vampire speed to enter the kitchen, fetching himself a TruBlood, a quick dinner before leaving for work, but when he opened the fridge, he nearly jumped back in shock. It was packed with everything a human could possibly need. Produce, dairy products, meats, cheeses, a few soft drinks. His refrigerator had never stocked anything more than a few cases of TruBlood, so this was definitely a shock for him.

"You went shopping." Eric said, his eyes wide from suprise, more as a statement than a question.

"Yeah, I did. I would've thought that even you with your disdain for the living would have some human provisions. You bring fangbangers home, don't you?"

Eric popped a bottle of O positive into the microwave, punching in the appointed time frame, listening to the steady hum.

"Just because I bring my work home with me doesn't mean that I let it stay. How do you like your new ride?" he asked with a smirk. He had originally intended on purchasing a new car for the Sorcerer, but he decided that a classic bike would be funnier.

"It's great. I had one just like it in the '60s. Thank you for being so considerate." The sarcasm in her voice was thick. The microwave beeped once before Eric retrieved his TruBlood.

"I am always thinking of you, magi."

Eric slowly entered the living room, sipping from his TruBlood like it was an unsatisfying beer.

"Hurry up and finish your sandwich, I'm taking you to Fangtasia with me."

"You're not going to actually make me work there, are you?" she asked, reaching for the remote. Eric flashed one of his signature "I-know-something-you-don't-know" grins, and shrugged one wide shoulder.

"I'll be waiting in the car."

-888-

Layla had to admit that Fangtasia didn't look as ominous and depressing when people were actually there. The parking lot was full, and the music coming from the vamp bar was vibrating.

"Are you always this busy?" she asked as they pulled into the parking spot in the back reserved for Eric.

"Yes, we are. You'd be surprised what humans will do these days to get close to a Vampire." Layla thought about it for a moment, then shook her head.

"No, I don't think I would be."

-888-

After everything she had seen in her 261 years of living, after all of the blood and pain and vulgarity, Fangtasia still had a shocking affect on her. When Eric said that it was a Vampire bar, she was expecting some kind of civilized collection of upstanding vamps, the kind that Eric usually associated with, but, instead it was a nesting ground for Vampire fanatics, out-of-work vamps who never stood a chance, and humans aching for V. Oh, with a few strippers thrown into the mix. Only Eric would go to these lengths to get his pay. He always was an outstanding business man.

Layla immediatly recoginzed Pam and Chow when she saw them again. Chow stood behind the bar, looking menacing and mysterious while cleaning beer glasses, which was a very hard thing to do. Pam stood in front of the bar, leaning against it, wearing a long, tight fitting, black leather dress with a plunging neckline that didn't leave much to the imagination. Chow, with his hard, "don't screw with me" attitude simply nodded in her direction, but Pam bothered to smile. Actually, it was more like a grin. A mocking grin.

"The Beatles? I never really was a fan. Their obvious British attitude brought back memories." said Pam once she caught site of Layla's shirt. Layla glanced down at her shirt, then looked back up at Pam, shrugging.

"The lyrics ring true, and the music transcends lifetimes. I could at least pay them the honor of wearing their t-shirt. But, yeah, their obvious British-ness did get on my nerves from time to time."

Pam rose an eyebrow, looking at Layla with a new light, and nodded, a sign of respect. Layla nodded in return. Chow only grimaced.

"I'm glad you two have reached a medium." said Eric as he came walking up behind Layla. "Pam, give her the short version, and find her a uniform. I'll be in my office." Eric didn't even wait for a reply before heading towards the back where his office was.

Layla turned back to Pam, and flinched when she saw the mischievous smile that played on the alabaster woman's face.

-888-

"Hell no!"

Eric's head popped up when he heard Layla's shrill voice pierce his ears. He wasn't that surprised when he saw her standing in the doorway of his office, one hand settled on her cocked hip, and the other holding up a black, lacy, very revealing outfit by the hanger. The look on her face was simply priceless.

"I'm assuming that this intrusion has something to do with uniform Pam chose for you?" he asked with a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

"I am NOT wearing this, Eric! This is like some kind of creepy, Dracula porn spoof. I'm not wearing it. And, I'm not going to serve as a walking mini-bar for Vamps. My blood is not the type that can just be sampled at will. Let me do something else. ANYTHING else."

Eric sighed, and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk.

"Magi, there is not much else for you to do. Unless, you want to dance. I haven't seen you dance in ages." Eric's smile was so wide that all of his brilliant white teeth were showing. Layla, however, was not amused.

"How about bar tending? I bar tended when I was working in London."

"Chow is our bar tender."

"Well, then I can be his little assistant, or something. Please, Eric, do not make me embarrass you in front of your patrons, and just say yes."

Eric stared into Layla's rich, brown eyes, and knew immediatly that if it was necessary, she would kick his ass. And he was not one to have his ass kicked by a 267 year old Sorcerer who looked like she was seventeen. Especially not in his establishment.

"Boter. You may bar tend, but, I warn you, Chow is very serious about his station." Layla rolled her eyes, and tossed her braids over her shoulders.

"Oh, I won't insult his honor, or anything like that. I'll do what he says, I promise." Eric nodded, and motioned towards the closest in the corner of the room.

"Look in there and borrow a pair of Pam's black slacks. Bar tenders wear all black."

Layla walked over to the closet, and closed the door behind her, giving her privacy to change. When she emerged, Eric immediately thought of some female bouncer or producer for the Beatles. He couldn't help but laugh out loud. Layla looked herself over in Eric's full length mirror, and shrugged.

"Hm. Urban."

"Now, get out there, and make me some money." said Eric, with a smirk. Layla returned the smirk over her shoulder, than exited Eric's office, closing the door behind her. Eric shook his head, and grinned. Layla was one of those rare humans who would always have the same spirit, the same passion. Of course, not all humans were immortal Sorcerers.

Eric laughed out loud again when he heard Chow fuming over his new apprentice bar tender.

-888-

About an hour later, Eric felt Layla's alarm five seconds before she burst through his door. He was already on his feet, fangs bared, ready for anything.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice heavy with lust for a fight. Layla was bent over, struggling to regain her breath.

"Beowulf...you won't believe it...El...ELVIS is in the lobby!"

Eric leaned back, and laughed again, his fangs still bared. He was laughing a lot more with Layla around.

* * *

**Boter: Swedish for "fine" **

**Review please! **


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